


A Daisy Among Roses

by Mertens



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I picture that this Erik hasnt really killed a lot of people, Mentor/Protégé, Pharoga - Freeform, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, but you can picture him as murdery as you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: After every performance at the Opera Populaire, young chorus girl Christine Daaé sees all of the performers receiving gifts of flowers — all of the performers except for her. Sometimes it’s difficult to be the odd one out, and she confides this to her Angel.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/The Persian
Comments: 38
Kudos: 51





	A Daisy Among Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 40th story for the PotO fandom, and 50th story overall! I wanted to try something a little different this time, so this isn't my standard e/c. It was an idea I've had for a while, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Christine watched as her friends all clutched bouquets of flowers to their chests, lovely bunches of roses and irises and even peonies. She could smell them as she passed by them on her way to her own dressing room — there were no admirers to hold her up like the other girls — and she slunk into the room, head down, as she closed the door.

“You did so well tonight, Christine.”

The warm voice of the Angel made her smile, but her sadness still lingered.

“Thank you, Angel.”

“Is something wrong, my dear? You don’t sound very happy.”

She fidgeted nervously with the lace on her sleeves.

“Nothing is wrong,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

“Are you very certain?”

She slotted her fingers together, squeezing her hands tight. She did not want to seem ungrateful or spoiled — she received voice lessons from an _angel_ , for goodness’s sake — but all season she had watched as her friends and peers had received recognition for their talents while she had very much not.

“Did you see the roses La Sorelli got?” she asked instead.

“Yes. From a certain Comte, I believe,” he mused.

“Meg got roses too,” she added. “I think everyone got roses tonight!”

She smiled a little sadly and sat on her vanity chair. Was it selfish to wish for roses? She didn’t need roses, she knew that, and yet... It would be nice, she thought, to have roses. Even just once. They didn’t have to be roses. Any flower would do, really. Just a token from someone that they had seen her on stage and thought she’d done a good job and wanted to acknowledge that. That was all.

“It would seem they did,” the Angel agreed.

She finally looked up from her hands, her expression despairing.

“I didn’t,” she whispered.

“Oh,” he breathed.

Erik stood on the other side of the mirror and studied his young student. She looked so worried over it at all. It felt like it had been ages since he had been her age, but he could still acutely remember the pang of being the odd one out.

He never really had stopped being the odd one out, he supposed, but he’d learned to deal with it as best he could. But Christine was still at the age where it felt the end of the world to be so separated from her peers.

“It makes me think you’re just being nice to me,” she said, surreptitiously trying to wipe a tear away as she smiled ruefully. “Maybe I’m not really as good as you say.”

“Oh, Christine—“

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I know I shouldn’t doubt you, but—“

“It’s alright, Christine,” he said gently. “I understand. Your talent has improved so much this past season, but it might be a while still before you gain the notice of adoring fans.”

She nodded, sad but accepting this fact.

“I work so hard,” she said meekly. “I would just like someone to notice.”

Erik’s protests died on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say to comfort her. Either no one noticed her, as she feared, or they did see her and thought her not very good. She couldn’t take much comfort in either one.

“Your Angel notices your hard work, and he’s very proud of you,” he tried.

She dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes and smiled up at the ceiling.

“Thank you.”

“Go run along to the shared dressing room, my dear, I believe the dresser is there and she can help you with your costume.”

She nodded and thanked him one more time, then left the old abandoned dressing room for the larger one that was shared by the chorus.

Erik sighed as he watched her leave, then turned to head towards his lair in the cellars. He hadn’t realized just how difficult it would be to play Angel to a teenage girl. She had so many problems he wished he could fix for her, but he was only a mere mortal. She’d been in France for over a year, and under his care for nearly six months, but the poor child still hadn’t made very many connections with friends beyond a handful of girls from the chorus. Her only family left in the world was an old widow with whom she lived. Who was there to give her flowers?

Christine kept to herself in the dressing room. The other girls didn’t really notice, anyway. She thanked the young woman who helped her remove her heavy costume and then went about gathering her things to leave. She much preferred the private dressing room, where she could be away from the laughter of the other girls, away from the reminders that they had all known each other for several years before she had even moved to France. But the Angel was insistent that she try to mingle with the other girls more, and she trusted that he knew best.

Unable to bear the sights and scents of the favors bestowed on her more popular and charming peers, she grabbed her shawl and her little purse and headed for the door. Too caught up in giggling over the little mishaps of the performance and comparing the flowers they’d all received, none of them noticed her leave.

She hurried home to Mamma Valerius, walking fast and hunching her shoulders against the cold wind. She could pretend the weather was the reason for the sting in her eyes, or at least that’s what she’d tell Mamma.

“Christine, my love, how was the show tonight?” Mamma asked her as soon as she arrived, giving her a hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t feel up to coming to see it.”

“It’s alright, Mamma. It went good.”

Christine knew her caretaker was often sickly, and when she was it was a struggle to go out and about. She tried her best not to mind. Besides, Mamma went to the opera very many times ever since Christine had been accepted into the company, so she knew she couldn’t complain. But it seemed that tonight, with all of its angst that had been building for weeks now, each little thing suddenly became a big thing.

“Do you need me to help with dinner?” Christine asked as she removed her shawl and hung it on a hook on the wall.

“No, it’s all finished! Come and eat, dear.”

During dinner Mamma asked about the show and how Christine had felt about her performance and if anything interesting had happened. Christine told her anecdotes here and there, but she didn’t breathe a word about the flowers. They talked about her most recent lesson with the Angel, and what they were working on.

After dinner Christine cleared the table while insisting that Mamma rest by the fire. She tried to lose her thoughts in the domestic chores, but worries still crept in on her. The dishes washed and dried and put away, she came in to sit by Mamma for a little while. Her eyes fell to the supply of wood by the fire, and she chewed anxiously on her lip. There were only a few logs left, and this winter weather would only get colder. She knew, in theory, that their benefactor would continue to provide for them, just like he’d done every week for the last five months, but a lifetime of scrimping just to get by did not fade from memory in just five months.

“I’m sure more wood will be delivered by tomorrow,” Mamma told her with a smile, as though she could see her thoughts. “Monsieur Durand has been good for his word, I see no reason why he should ever stop.”

Christine nodded, though it was still odd to her. Mamma’s husband, Professor Valerius, had passed away eight months ago. But four months ago they had received word from a Monsieur Durand, who said in a letter that he was an old and dear friend of the Professor — though Mamma had tutted and frowned, trying to remember if she’d ever met this man, or if her husband had even mentioned him before — and that upon hearing of the passing of his good friend, he had been moved to provide for his widow and ward. This provision started immediately, with money being sent along with his letter, and later, scheduled deliveries of various goods that made Mamma almost weep over his generosity. Since Durand had begun providing for them, they’d never had to ration firewood or food again, and Christine and Mamma both were able to purchase new dresses and warm winter coats. Durand had promised to continue to provide for them without reservation or qualification, all because of his great friendship with the Professor in their younger days.

Soon enough, Christine headed to bed, and Mamma turned in for the night not long after. In the dead of night, as both of them were fast asleep, a lone figure walked down the street, clothed in hat and cloak. No one was awake to notice him, which was just how he liked it.

Erik approached the door of the little apartment where Christine lived with her caretaker. He glanced at the bundle on the corner of the stoop — it was the firewood he had ordered to be delivered. He smiled a little at this. Certain that the deliveries he had scheduled were still coming on time, he turned to leave, melting into the shadows once more.

He materialized not long after at the doorstep of a certain man that most people at the Opera didn’t bother to call anything but the Persian, and produced a key from a pocket in his coat.

Inside the apartment, the Persian man, Nadir, stared out the window at the dark street below.

“Looking for someone, Daroga?” Erik mused, appearing soundlessly behind him and removing his cloak.

Nadir turned, not surprised at all. After so many years of being around Erik, he was used to how soundlessly the man could move.

“I was afraid you weren’t coming, Erik,” he said, turning to smile at him.

“I had business to attend to,” Erik replied, aloof.

“I hope you weren’t terrorizing the poor managers too much,” Nadir chuckled, motioning for Erik to follow him to the sitting room.

“They’ve been spared my wrath, for the moment,” Erik replied, taking his mask off to place on a shelf.

“They should be grateful for the reprieve, I suppose.”

“Quite.”

In the sitting room, Nadir had a pot of tea ready and waiting. He poured a cup for each of them, and settled himself in the chair across from Erik. Although Erik would win no prizes in the beauty department, it warmed Nadir’s heart to know that he was the only person who got to look upon him like this, that he was the only one Erik entrusted with himself and all his vulnerabilities.

“Shall I assume the reason for this respite is—?”

“It is,” he sighed. “She has such potential but she’s still timid as a mouse, poor girl.”

“I saw her tonight, and I see what you mean.”

“Don’t get me wrong — she works hard, she puts in the effort. But sometimes I fear that she expects supernatural results where she’ll only find incremental progress.”

“One of the likely side effects of being told her instructor is an angel,” Nadir teased.

Erik groaned, rolling his eyes. It seemed Nadir would never pass up the opportunity to poke fun at the situation Erik had gotten himself into, including that very first night when Erik had ran back to the apartment to recount the baffling tale of how he now was expected to play the role of a heavenly protector to a young girl.

It wasn’t as if he had wanted to take on that role. He simply hadn’t had any other choice.

He had, almost quite literally, stumbled across her as she was weeping in the little chapel one night. He had been making use of the thin secret passageways hidden behind the walls, and was taking an armful of stolen groceries back down to his lair. Pleased with his raid — it had been ages since he’d had fresh fruit, and he currently had an armful of oranges and berries in addition to several loaves of bread and some cheese — and, assuming no one was around to hear him due to the hour, he had begun to sing to himself.

He hadn't expected anyone to be around to hear him as he broke out into a jaunty opera tune, but unfortunately for him, someone was, and that someone just happened to be a young girl who was sobbing on the floor of the little chapel.

She had gasped loudly when she heard him.

"Oh! Angel!"

Erik stopped awkwardly, realizing he'd been caught. Perhaps if he stayed still enough, she'd think it had been her imagination.

"Angel?" she asked, worry creeping into her voice. "Are you there? Please, please say something. I heard you singing. You've visited me at last, just like Papa said you would, haven't you? Angel, please come back!"

At her apparent loss of the heavenly visitor, she began to cry again, inconsolable. He hesitated. He couldn't stand when someone cried, much less when it was a woman, and even less so when it was a child. Hoping he wouldn't regret whatever followed, he spoke to her.

"Do not cry, child, it is all right."

"You really are the Angel of Music! Oh, please don't ever leave me, Angel! I couldn't bear it if you did!"

"I'm what?" Erik asked, utterly baffled.

"You're the Angel, the one Papa promised would come to me after I died!" the girl said joyfully, sniffling the last of her tears away.

"Oh?" Erik inquired, already regretting it.

"You're going to teach me to sing, aren't you? And always watch after me? Papa promised you would!"

"I'm—"

"Is Papa okay? In heaven?" she asked, her tone somber.

Erik cursed his very existence. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, but it steadfastly refused to do so.

"Oh," he said lamely. "He is. He's fine, my dear. Don't you worry about him."

She somehow missed his awkward tone and beamed up the icons on the wall.

"I waited for you for so long, Angel," she told him sincerely, as his panic began to get stronger and stronger. "I thought you might never show up at all. Oh, I can't imagine a fate worse than that!"

Erik licked his dry lips and tried to swallow around his dry throat.

"What, ah— what exactly am I supposed to do again?"

"Teach me to sing!" she said with all the seriousness in the world. "And watch over me."

He wanted to smash his head against the stone wall. How in the world was he, a living ghost, supposed to look after a child?! It was utter madness. And yet she expected it of him, trusted that he would do it, and all because her stupid dead father had said so.

Erik hated his life.

"My child, I am— I am a very busy, er, _angel_ , you must understand, I'm afraid — surely your father meant that I would visit you, and you would be comforted from that, and your voice would be inspired—"

"No!" she cried, and he could hear the tears beginning to creep back into her voice. "No! He promised! He said you'd stay with me, always! You're going to leave me, just everyone else! I can't bear it!"

He heard the sound of her falling to the ground once more, her knees hitting the stone floor, and she was crying into her hands just as she'd been before he'd arrived, only now it was worse because she was on the verge of losing him.

"Was I not good enough?" she sobbed, her tremulous voice muffled by her hands. "Did I displease you, Angel? Please forgive me!"

"No, no!" Erik dropped some of his groceries, placing a hand on the wall that separated the two of them. "No, it's not like that. There is nothing to forgive, my dear, I promise. You didn't do anything wrong. Of course I'm here to teach you!"

"Thank you, Angel," she cried. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you!"

Erik sagged against the wall, defeated. All of his dizzying intellect was no match for a small girl, apparently.

He had promised to meet her there in the chapel again the following week at the same day and time, and though she'd been concerned about him not staying with her constantly, she eventually let him go. He could feel a cold sweat running down his back as he made his way to his home under the ground, throwing his groceries in the kitchen and beginning to pace around in front of the fireplace. He had only wanted some damned fruit, and now he had a ward! He hadn't signed up for this!

Unable to comprehend what exactly he'd fallen into, he had to go see Nadir. The man had laughed at him, of course, as Erik sat slouched down in his chair, red-faced and full of shame, and Nadir had only laughed all the harder.

"Enough, enough!" Erik had finally snapped at him. "What the devil am I supposed to do?"

Nadir turned mostly serious, and shrugged as he thought it over for a moment.

"Teach her," he'd said at last, and Erik gaped at him.

Had the entire world gone mad?

He’d arrived behind the chapel at the arranged time, full of nerves and awkwardness. No one had ever depended on him before — at least, not anyone he actually cared if he disappointed. He had the feeling that if he just didn’t show up, as he wanted to, this girl’s entire world would be irreparably crushed.

She was there waiting for him when he arrived. He found her name was Christine, she was originally from Sweden, and that she lived with her “Mamma” Valerius — an old widow who wasn’t even related to her. He listened to her sing, getting an idea of what her skill level was. To be honest, she sounded like a rusty hinge, but he did not tell her this. To her unending delight, he even sang a song for her, and she clapped her hands with joy when he had finished. He sent her away then, though he noticed she seemed reluctant to leave his presence, as though he’d never come back once she did. He assured her that they would meet again, and he meant it. He felt like a right fool pretending he was an angel, and even worse about doing so in a chapel — it felt like bad energy, somehow. Could lightning strike through walls, perhaps?

As soon as he could, he tracked down the Valerius woman and left a letter on her doorstep explaining the whole thing. He could not, of course, tell her the truth, but he did the best he could, all things considered.

In the letter he explained that he was in fact the “good maestro” who had been promised to Christine, that as such he would begin her training to become an excellent soprano, and that he strictly did not accept payment of any sort for doing so. He promised to keep her guardian updated on the girl’s progress, and gave her directions on what to do should she need to contact him herself, that she should send her messages to him through a certain flat in Paris, assuring her that while he did not live there, the person who did would be certain that the letters reached him.

Sure enough Nadir did receive letters from Valerius on occasion, and in the midst of reading them Erik often couldn’t tell if the old woman thought he was truly an angel or if she realized he was nothing but a man.

And that was how Erik had unwittingly become guardian angel to a thirteen year old Christine. They continued their lessons twice a week, soon moving to the old abandoned dressing room that she took over as her own. He found her to be a hardworking girl, serious and studious, and overly polite to him at times — something he realized stemmed from her fear that every good thing in her life would at some point be taken from her.

But she was getting better about trusting that he’d be there for her, just as her voice was sounding more like a real singer’s. Progress was happening, with time, though he could tell that sometimes, like tonight, she was getting impatient.

He rubbed at his bare forehead.

“She was upset, tonight,” he said softly.

“Oh?”

“Apparently all the other girls got flowers but her.”

“Hmm,” Nadir considered this. “You should write to Valerius and let her know. Maybe she could buy her some.”

“Perhaps so,” Erik agreed, but his brow was still furrowed. This whole being an angel felt like it was aging him terribly.

Nadir set his empty tea cup aside and chuckled.

“Erik, you’re putting too much worry into this,” he told him as he stood and came to stand behind Erik’s chair. “We’ll get the girl some flowers, she’ll feel better, then she’ll move on to the next crisis. Everything is a crisis at that age. You mustn’t fret so hard over each one that comes up.”

He put his hands on Erik’s shoulders, beginning to knead the tight muscles there until some of the tension released.

“There,” he said. “Isn’t that better?”

Erik hummed in response.

Nadir pulled away, about to take their dishes to the kitchen when Erik protested the sudden loss of his hands upon him.

“You missed a spot, Daroga,” he chided, and Nadir chuckled at his serious tone.

He replaced his hands and resumed his ministrations.

“Well, it seems I did,” Nadir agreed, and leaned down to kiss Erik’s cheek.

“That’s better,” Erik said gruffly, and the next time Nadir went into his cheek again, Erik turned his head so that the kiss landed on his lips instead.

“Better indeed,” Nadir breathed with a smile.

The next morning before he left for the opera house, Erik wrote a quick letter to Valerius explaining that Christine was a little sad that she hadn’t received flowers from admirers, and that perhaps a bouquet of roses at her next performance might cheer her up. He included a few franc notes as well, enough to buy some decent flowers, and hoped that the woman would take the hint.

Sure enough, she did, and at Christine’s next performance she was waiting outside the dressing rooms, a bunch of pink roses in hand. She was always grateful that the angel kept her in the loop of what was happening with Christine— the poor girl hadn’t mentioned flowers to her at all! But it seemed they were important to her, so here she was.

Soon she saw her adopted daughter coming down the hall with a little group of other girls who were also in the chorus, and Christine seemed to be talking with them. Valerius beamed. How good it was that Christine had friends now!

“Christine!” she called out to her. “You were wonderful, dear!”

Christine turned as pink as the roses as she approached her guardian with the other girls.

“Look, I’ve brought you roses, Christine — aren’t they lovely? Now you’re just like the prima donna of the stage! You were so professional up there tonight, dear, you sang like an angel!”

The other girls started to giggle at her over-flattering words, and suddenly Christine was embarrassed.

“You can put these in your dressing room, just like all the other girls,” Valerius continued, unaware of how Christine was glancing about at the smirking chorus girls around her. “These smell so beautiful, don’t they? Here, take them! You’ve earned them!”

Christine tried her best to smile as she took the roses.

“Thank you, Mamma,” she choked out, embarrassed.

“You’re a real star now!” she told her as she swept her into a hug. “My little Chrissy is famous!”

Christine’s jaw dropped as she was called her mortifying nickname in front of everyone. She wiggled out of the hug and smiled nervously.

“I have to go change now, Mamma, I’ll meet you in the lobby!”

Christine scurried into the shared dressing room to change. Her face was burning, and she hoped that the other girls hadn't heard too much.

But as soon as the door was closed they all burst into giggles and snickers.

“My little Chrissy!” they teased. “A real star! Did you ask your mamma to buy you those?”

Christine groaned. She changed her outfit as fast as she could then grabbed her roses and ran off to her private dressing room to remove her makeup.

The door of her private room closed just a little too hard. She frowned down at the flowers in her hands, blinking hard.

“Christine,” the warm voice of her angel floated down to her. “What lovely flowers!”

She bit her lip, hard. Was he going to mock her, too?

She sat heavily at her vanity, placing the flowers there, and slowly began the process of removing her makeup.

“My dear, what’s wrong?” Erik asked, worried now.

“Mamma gave me roses,” she said in a weak voice.

“Well — yes! Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Everyone saw they were from her,” she said, despairing. “All the other girls were getting roses from strangers and fans — and the only person who gave me any was her!”

A scared look passed over her face.

“Oh—! I didn’t mean— oh, Angel, you must think me terribly wicked. Complaining over beautiful flowers that Mamma spent so much money on, and I don’t even sound grateful! But it’s not that,” she sniffled. “I am grateful. It’s just— well, everyone gets flowers from admirers, from fans. From people who think they’re wonderful. Mamma has to think I’m wonderful, don’t you see?”

“I don’t think you wicked, Christine, it’s all right,” Erik said.

“I know I shouldn’t be upset,” she said quietly, staring at herself in the vanity mirror. “But I’m afraid she embarrassed me tonight, in front of everyone.”

Erik watched her reflection as she scrubbed at her face with a cloth to remove her heavy stage makeup. She was crying again.

“I can’t even explain it,” she said at last. “But I feel so silly now. Like she just drew attention to the fact that I’ve never gotten flowers until now, and even now— well, it’s like it didn’t count!”

“Christine,” he said after a pause. “Did the other girls tease you over it?”

She hung her head in shame, not answering him. It was enough of a reply for Erik to understand.

“It’s not about the flowers,” Erik said slowly, understanding dawning on him. “It’s the clout with your peers.”

She glanced up, surprised.

“It’s a status symbol, isn’t it?” he continued. “And coming from your Mamma, it’s just... not the same. Correct?”

“Yeah,” she said, fidgeting with the roses a little. “But I feel so bad now — she shouldn’t have spent money on these, and I feel wretched that I don’t even appreciate them enough.”

“Don’t worry about the money, Christine,” he assured her.

She pressed her lips together in a straight line. Sometimes, though she tried to never admit to it, the Angel annoyed her. How easy it was for him to say not to worry about money — he had no body that needed to be fed and kept warm. Of course an Angel had no need for money, why should he worry over it? But she pushed that unkind thought from her head.

“Don’t worry about what the other girls say, either.”

She huffed at this advice.

“You must be very popular in Heaven, Angel,” she quipped, and Erik laughed at this.

The longer they’d known each other, the more comfortable she was becoming in letting her personality shine through to him, and he found her endlessly amusing. Perhaps, one day, in a few years or so, she might begin to back talk him and he knew he wouldn’t find that quite as amusing, only frustrating. Or perhaps the thought that he was an angel would spare him from her teenage rebellion. Either way, he felt proud of her, like he was her uncle or some such similar relation.

“Never mind that,” he said, smiling wryly. “I want you to enjoy those roses for what they are, and I want to thank your Mamma again when you get home, okay?”

“Okay,” she said as she finished cleaning her face. “Thank you, Angel. I’ll see you for my lesson tomorrow, right?”

“Of course, my dear.”

She exited the dressing room, roses clutched to her chest. She received a few sidelong smirks from the lingering girls in the hallway, all of them clutching flowers that were very certainly _not_ given to them by their Mammas. She looked down at her flowers, her mouth set firmly, and tried to ignore them all.

Her Mamma loved her, and had splurged on something as frivolous as flowers, simply because she thought it would please her. She was a very lucky girl, she knew, and she was grateful beneath the embarrassment.

She found her Mamma waiting for her in the lobby, smiling fondly at her.

“Mamma,” she went up to her and hugged her. “Thank you again for the roses. They’re so lovely.”

The two women walked home together, away from the opera house and its gossip.

Erik considered the problem from this new angle all evening, as he descended down to the little house by the underground lake. He made himself some tea and settled in by the fire, a hint of guilt pressing on him — probably from all the Daroga’s damn whining about how he shouldn’t live down here, and his constant offers to come live in his flat with him.

Sometimes Erik considered it, moving in with him. He did spend a good deal of time with him there, evenings by his fire, mornings at his breakfast table, nights in his bed. To have that always was a very tempting offer, but Erik always returned to the cellars, much to Nasir’s disappointment. He knew that the man loved him very much, and he loved him in return, but Erik had scars that Nadir could not heal, old wounds that made him want to seek solitude down under the ground, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of Paris, of the world. Nadir understood, even though it hurt.

Despite Christine’s assumption that he was a very popular angel who never had to worry about gossip, the truth was that he lived a life on the outskirts of everything. Always an outsider, looking in on what he could never have, watching other people do things he would never be given the opportunity to do. He could never live like anyone else, go freely without stares. He could never marry the love of his life, or have a family with him. He could never be normal, or accepted.

But he could be like a father to Christine. He’d do the best he could with what he had, and wanted to help her feel like she wasn’t on the outside looking in at her fellows singers. She was one of them, and she should be able to feel like it — and he had a plan for her next performance.

Neither of them mentioned anything about flowers at her next lesson. Christine was almost certain the Angel had forgotten, but she certainly hadn’t. She was already steeling herself for the next show in a few days, preparing to once again be left out. As much as she wanted to hope that it might go differently, she knew hope only led to a more bitter disappointment in the end.

She had no idea, of course, that after their lesson her Angel snuck outside to visit the flower shop just across the street.

Erik clenched and unclenched his gloved hands as he approached the store. He hated going outside and allowing others to gawk at him, but he had important business today.

The young man at the flower shop had a visible reaction to Erik’s mask, and Erik’s jaw tightened, a hot flush of shame rushing over him. He glanced about at the flowers, half-heartedly returning the young man’s shaky greeting.

Money was no object for Erik. He could purchase her any flower she wished, but what kind would be best? Roses were standard, but perhaps too standard. In very large quantities, they could be seen as a certain romantic proposition, one not entirely appropriate for a girl of her age. No, not roses then. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of the lilies, and considered the peonies for a moment, but he knew he had to pick something that seemed right for her, not just any old thing — he needed something that was befitting of her age and personality. And that when he noticed the perfect flower.

He left instructions with the florist on what he wanted and where it was to be delivered and when, and he paid a hefty sum for it. But it would all be worth it very soon.

Christine cherished the sound of applause as the curtain fell on yet another show. She hoped that that would be her one day in La Carlotta’s place, getting to go out and take a second bow for her adoring audience. Her Angel assured her that it could be, in time, if she was patient and worked hard.

She felt a little wistful as she tagged along behind the other girls as they headed off to the dressing rooms. She was lost inside her own head until a wave of murmurs began to reach her. She looked up, surprised to see the other girls looking at her in a way they never had before.

“Who’s it from?” some whispered. “Did anyone see who it was?”

“The dresser said a florist brought them in during the show,” another answered.

“Well who sent them?”

Christine realized it must be an expensive arrangement delivered to one of the stars, but that did nothing to explain why the girls were looking at her — until she caught a glimpse of her dressing room through the slightly opened door.

Her heart skipped a beat. Were these—? No, they must have been delivered by mistake, to the wrong room.

She pressed ahead and pushed her door open, revealing dozens of huge bouquets of daisies, practically filling the room. The other girls behind her gasped. She stepped timidly into her dressing room, eyes full of wonder. There was a notecard on her vanity table, and she picked it up to read it.

“For Mlle Daaé,” she read off of the card. “From— from a secret admirer.”

She looked up at the girls, her jaw slack. They all stared at her with awe and admiration and envy. Christine blushed and looked down demurely.

“Excuse me,” she said shyly. “I have to change now.”

She closed and locked the door, then turned back to face the hundreds of cheery white and yellow flowers filling her room. Her first thought was that Mamma had done it, but she knew Mamma didn’t have the money to do something like this.

She spied a second card, half hidden under the items on her vanity. She opened it and read it.

 _Christine—_  
_Your Angel also knows how it feels to be the odd one out in a group, to feel like a simple daisy among a field of roses. It is difficult to be the foreigner, the new girl, the one in the shadow of everyone else. You are not alone in this feeling, I assure you, even though you feel that you are. For now you will simply have to trust me that one day the things that make you different, the things you think are a weakness, can actually become a strength, and what sets you apart from all the others will one day be a part of what makes you unique. Your Angel could not be prouder of you and your consistent hard work and dedication to your craft, and will always be there to admire and appreciate your talent and tenacity._  
_— The Angel of Music_

She nearly wept to behold his letter to her, and her hands trembled as she read his kind words. This was far better than any gift from some theater-goer who had enjoyed her singing.

“Oh, Angel,” she cried, glancing around the room. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He chuckled behind the mirror.

“Enjoy them, my dear, and all the notoriety they may bring,” he told her.

She laughed as she wiped her tears away.

“You’re the best Angel a girl could ask for,” she said, beaming, as she scooped up an armful of the bouquets to take home with her.

“And you are the best Christine an Angel could hope to teach,” he replied.

She was smiling widely as she left her dressing room, and very almost left without even changing out of her costume. She remembered, and ducked into the shared dressing room where her dress was waiting for her. She expected to not be noticed as had often been the case when entering the shared room, but this time all eyes turned to her when she entered. She ducked her head a little, looking away.

Suddenly the chatter started all at once.

“Who is he?”

“Is it someone you know?”

“I’ve never seen so many flowers at once!”

“Who could it have been?”

“Do we know him, I wonder?”

Christine merely shrugged, still smiling as she changed.

“I do not know, I’m afraid,” she replied. “The card only said _secret admirer_. It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you!”

The girls began to try to figure out who this mystery man might be, and if any of them had ever seen him before. An entire room, full of flowers! Christine was pulled in on the conversation, though she found she didn’t have much to add.

But this conversation was different now. She was one of them, truly one of them, and they looked at her as though she really were someone to be admired and not just the girl who’d come here from Sweden so recently that she still had an accent. Christine was suddenly someone that somebody had taken an interested notice in, therefore they, too, were suddenly interested in her.

“Daisies!” sighed Cecile Jammes. “So unusual!”

“It’s like having a whole field of wildflowers in your dressing room!” Meg Giry chirped.

Before she could leave, the girls made her promise that she’d go with them tomorrow to get lunch at a cafe, and Christine readily agreed. How long has she secretly wished to join them on their lunches, only to never be invited in the past? But all that had changed now. In a matter of minutes, Christine had become the most popular girl in the chorus.

When she finally emerged with a small posse of new best friends, Erik was already in the hallway with all the other opera-goers who were there to get a glimpse of the performers. Dressed in his fine evening wear and a hat pulled low to hide most of his mask, for the most part he blended in with everyone else. Christine had never seen him before, so he had no fear of being recognized.

He was able to watch her as she walked out with the other girls, laughing and smiling and chatting, her arms full of flowers. It seemed his plan had had the desired effect, and he smiled at the sight of it. He had been so reluctant to play the role of Angel for her when they’d first met, but now he didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t do to make certain she was happy.

Nadir came up beside him, pleased to see that he was here and not hiding in Box Five or a cellar somewhere.

“Erik,” he said warmly, softly, and reached a hand out to give the other man’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “You’re here.”

He had told Erik when he’d be at the opera, secretly hoping that he might show up at some point, and it would be a lie to say he hadn’t spent most of his time scanning the audience and the crowds for a familiar mask.

“Of course. I had enough sense to know that you’d be fool enough to go looking for me if I wasn’t.”

Nadir chuckled quietly, his gaze following Erik’s. Erik had been right — the girl seemed to have the potential for great talent, if she stuck with it. He could see why Erik was so proud of her, and after all the stories he’d told Nadir about her, he felt like he knew her too. He smiled at how happy she looked with her bunches of flowers and her eager friends.

When she was at last out of sight, Erik turned his bright gaze to his companion.

“It was a lovely show,” Nadir offered.

“It was a horrible show,” Erik countered, nothing if not contrary. “But it had its lovely parts.”

“I suppose you’ll be going back— back under, again,” Nadir said wistfully.

Erik turned to fully face him, studying him a moment, then, not caring who might see them tucked away in the corner of the hallway full of guests still milling about, he reached out and straightened the lapels of Nadir’s jacket.

“Why don’t we go get dinner out somewhere, instead?” Erik said, smiling, his gaze tender.

Nadir’s eyes widened for a brief instant before he broke out in a lopsided grin. Erik so very rarely wanted to spend time where anyone could see him, so he knew how much it meant to be offered this.

“I’d love to have dinner with you, Erik,” he replied.

Erik’s lips twitched into a nervous smile.

“Hmm. Now that would be lovely indeed, Daroga,” he said as he took his arm and the two of them set off to find a quiet restaurant.


End file.
